It's Like a Reality Show, But Really Not
by Grace Raven
Summary: It wasn't the first time they'd been trapped together. No. They'd been snowed in, etc., but never trapped in one large house with no memory of the night before or where they were. Chaos could only ensue. Ch.5 We lost ch. 4, but at least we found Waldo.
1. Romano Has No Luck

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: World Series.

**It's Like a Reality Show, But Really Not**

**Romano Has No Luck, But That's No Surprise**

The last thing Romano wanted was to wake up in someone's arms. Of course, women were an exception to this, and maybe his brother, and maybe also Sp—NO! He was not about to say Spain! Stop snickering, damn it!

Anyway, back on topic: Romano did not like to wake up in the arms of a random person. Especially Spain, and ESPECIALLY a macho potato bastard.

And yet, here he was, curled up against said potato bastard's body. And to say in the least, he was _not _enjoying it. Although, he had to admit that the German smelled kinda nic—DAMMIT! WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM TODAY?!

Germany grumbled something, pulling Romano closer, giving the Italian a sense of protect—

Romano pushed himself away from the German, blushing furiously. Stupid potato bastard and his stupid protective qualities. Where was Spain when you needed him?

The Italian sighed, about to stand up and try to find a light in the dark room, when he felt a pair of muscular arms wrap around his waist and a face press against his thigh. Germany groaned into his pant leg as though he was a small child, before muttering a soft "Italy…".

Oh…

Of course Germany was thinking about Italy. That was why he was clinging to Romano. Their bodies were so similar after all…

"Ugh…what the bloody hell happened last night?" a familiar voice moaned from somewhere in the room.

"Yeah, I was just wondering that myself, dude."

"Ve~. It's so dark here…"

"Where's the light, aru?"

"Light was created in Korea, da ze!"

"Damn, my head hurts. I'm too awesome for this."

"That's what you get for drinking so much, man! Haha!"

"M' wife?"

"L'amour! Tell me why we are trapped here!"

Oh, of course. France just _had _to be there with England. Along with Sweden, Denmark, Prussia, Korea, China, America, his ever annoying brother, _and _Germany to top it all off. Fate had decided to be cruel to him today, hadn't it?

"Lovi~~ Are you here?"

Oh _come on._

For some strange reason, he answered Spain's call. "I'm over here, tomato bastard."

"_Fratello!_ You're here, too?!"

"Hey, Romano, where ever you are, could you find a light switch or something?"

"Why don't you find your own light switch, lazy hamburger bastard!"

Just then, a yellow light illuminated the room. The origin was a lamp…which was floating in mid-air….In. Mid. Air.

America screamed in a rather school-girl fashion before quickly hiding behind England, Prussia following soon after. The Italy brothers quickly found each other and clung to their respective brother. Korea and France suddenly disappeared, and China somehow ended up on the circling ceiling fan, hanging on for dear life to one of the blades. Sweden, ever so stoic, stood his ground, managing to still look intimidating with Denmark cowering behind his legs.

"Ghost!" America yelled, clutching England's jacket.

"B-b-bloody hell! F-Fairies! A-a-attack!"

"This is no time to be hallucinating, _Angleterra!_ We have to deal with this haunting—Oh, no wait. That's no ghost. Canada, _mon cher,_ how long have you been there?" France stated. Both he and Korea crawled out from under a table, the Korean looking positively pleased at the appearance of Canada. America and Prussia peaked out from behind England and the island nation visibly relaxed, for once remembering the existence of his son. China jumped to the floor, landing without mistake, and Denmark moved away from his hiding place, trying to maintain his dignity. Both countries held confused faces (they were most likely trying to remember where Canada was), but still showed signs of being able to see Canada. Spain was clueless as usual, staying where he was as Italy did, Sweden retained his emotionless expression as he followed Denmark towards the lamp and its holder, and Romano remained anchored to the floor with the still sleeping German.

"Yo, Mattie! When'd you get here?" America asked, slapping his brother on the shoulder. The Canadian stumbled forward slightly, before meekly pushing his glasses back and answering.

"I-I've been here the whole time, Al." His voice was as soft as always, forcing several of the nations to strain their ears to hear.

The American laughed loudly, throwing an arm over his brother's shoulders. "Well, welcome to the party! We have no idea where we are, and I barely have any recollection of the previous night!"

This peaked the interest of several of the personifications, England being the first to voice it. "Now that you mention it…I can barely remember anything from yesterday past leaving the meeting and heading to the bar with Denmark and Prussia. After that, it's all a blur."

"Well, let me be the first one to inform you that it was an awesome night. You and Denny got drunk and were dancing around on the tables singing some random shit. I think we all passed out after that…I dunno."

"Well, _that's_ sure informative," Romano deadpanned, arms crossed. Italy, sitting next to him, looked over, finally noticing the presence of Germany.

"Ve~. _Fratello_, is that Germany on your lap?" Every nation's head whipped to their direction, Canada bringing over the lamp, the light confirming that—at some point—Germany had laid his head on Romano's lap, sleeping in complete bliss.

"Nice one, West! First North Italy, and now South? You player you," Prussia praised, reaching down and ruffling his brother's hair, the blond locks without the presence of hair gel.

"W-What? G-Germany's cheating on me? With my brother?" And with that, the northern half of Italy began bawling his eyes out.

"N-n-NO! I HATE HIM! AND SINCE WHEN WERE YOU TWO TOGETHER?!" Romano shrieked, making no move to comfort his younger brother, although his hand unconsciously found itself on top of Italy's.

"Um, since _forever_?" Denmark stated.

Romano stood up quickly, Germany hitting the ground with a soft _thunk_. "Who the hell asked you, ax bastar—" He was cut off by the lights in the room suddenly turning on. At the same time, the German on the ground groaned and sat up, having awakened as the final light flickered on. Oh, the irony…

"I found the lights!" Spain exclaimed happily, an accomplished smile on his face. China and Sweden had mysteriously vanished, and Korea was grasping Canada's non-existent breasts.

"Where am I?" Germany asked, looking around the room. When he turned to Italy, the half of a nation automatically tackled him.

"Doitsu! Please tell me you're not cheating on me with my brother!"

The blond, obviously caught off guard, awkwardly patted northern Italy's back, ignoring Romano's glares. "O-of course I'm not, Ita—Veneziano." He had corrected himself as to not increase further Romano's anger.

Nevertheless, Veneziano continued to sob into his chest.

"Ah, _Italie_, no need to cry," France cooed, his hand reaching dangerously close to the smaller nation's vital regions.

"Keep your hands off him, fucking frog!" England yelled, punching the Frenchman out of habit. Before the two Europeans could commence a fight, America intervened, stepping between the two. Canada turned off the lamp, fading with the light. Korea frowned, now having no imaginary breasts to grab. He placed his hands on his own chest, not finding any satisfaction, and sighed.

Just then, Sweden stepped into the room.

"_Sverige_, where'd you disappear to, man?" Denmark inquired, surveying the tall man and giving a slight nod to China when the shorter man appeared next to the Nordic.

"W' f'nd s'me'ne 'ls'," Sweden grunted. China sighed.

"What he is saying is that we found someone else here." China turned his head to his left, mouthing something with a bob of his head. The Asian and the Nordic moved away from the door as the newly found man stepped into the room. With his presence, the temperature suddenly dropped and the once peaceful gaze of America turned menacing.

"Hello there, comrades. We're going to have lots of fun now, _da_?"

They weren't making it out alive, were they?

* * *

**Grace Raven: **The pairings are currently undecided at current (I have too many favorites ;_;), but I'll probably throw in a bunch of hints. I have a bunch of ideas for which nation(s) they'll find next, but I can't figure out which ones, so any reviewers, please throw in a request if you have one.

**Translations:**

Angleterra (French) - England

Sverige (Danish) - Sweden

Italie (French) - Italy

Fratello (Italian) - Brother

_Please review if you like the story and wish to see more. Or else I'll die._


	2. In Which Everyone Fails to do Anything

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: World Series.

**It's Like a Reality Show, But Really Not**

**In Which Everyone Fails to do Anything Productive**

**(And the Authoress Uses the Dying Joke Too Much)**

England was sure he'd die of heart attack by the end of the day. First the lamp incident and now the appearance of one of the tallest (and scariest) nations he had ever met. Just the mere _presence _sped his heart up. Oh well, at least he'd get to bring America down with him.

Then again, this wasn't a horror story, so there was no hoping for the death of any character…

"Damn commie bastard! Now I have to worry about you getting Mattie drunk with that shit you call Vodka so you have a better chance at pulverizing him in the rink _and _England trying to feed us all his damn scones!"

…unless the murderer went by the name the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland…

"Hello, _Америка_. I see you are doing well."

…or—if that smile was anything to go by—the former Soviet Union.

Either way, America was destined to die before England croaked of sudden heart attack, which would, no doubt, be caused by France. And the only way to save his life and the world's economy* was for him to belt up soon.

Which everyone knew wasn't going to happen anytime in the next thirty seconds.

England made mental plans to sing _God Save the Queen _at America's funeral. Just to spite him.

…

Because he deserved it.

Oh, just get back to the story.

"I'd be doing a lot better if _you _weren't here, du—" The northern nation was cut off by a sharp hit to the head. Strangely enough, not by a rusted and bent up pipe, but by a hockey stick. Yes, a hockey stick. Yes, Canada's prized hockey stick. Yes, the same one he used to beat America in the most recent Winter Olympics. Yes, Canada was using his favorite hockey stick to hit America up-side the head. Yes, the usually calm, quiet, passive-aggressive nation had become rather hostile.

England blamed France. Because everyone in the world knew that anything that went wrong with Canada was France's fault. It was all in the language.

"OW! What the hell, Mattie?"

"You brought this on yourself, Al."

"Did you have to hit so hard?"

"You have a dense head. I need to hit hard to get through."

"Not that hard!"

"Says who, _mon_ _frère_?"

"Says my aching brain! Which is probably internally bleeding now, _thank you very much._"

Canada didn't dignify his brother's (rather dense) comment with a response, choosing to deliver another blow to his head before stomping off. America hit the floor, his mumbled curses and whines about his brother being a "_**tête de merde**__" _being heard through the hardwood. Somehow, Canada heard his brother (twin telepathy? No one shall ever know), and yelled back from somewhere in the halls _"Oh yeah? Well you're __**una perra**__!" _This, in turn, forced America off the ground with lightening fast speed as he yelled back _"Oh hell naw!" _and ran after his northern twin.

Throughout all this, Russia had been giggling, but when America had stood up with a rather noticeable face print of the floor, the large nation went to the precipice of howling laughter. He finally burst when the two brothers caught up with each other and started fighting in two different languages, Canada using Spanish, America using French, and sometimes vice versa. Spain and France winced at some of the insults, while at others a quick smirk appeared on their faces.

But that was beside the point. What truly was relevant was that Russia was currently curled up in a ball, on the floor, laughing his big-boned ass off.

_Crap._

"Russia's gone crazy! Run!" Prussia shouted, running as fast as he could out the door, only to collide face first with a wall, leaving a nice indent in the plaster. Denmark took Prussia's advice and ran as well, miraculously making it out the door without incident, only to repeat the albino's actions and collide with a hallway wall. Strangely enough, he began crying about his leg hurting instead of his face like Prussia was currently wailing over.

Sweden gave no care and simply poked Russia with a stick—no, not a hockey stick this time—earning himself the title of the bravest man _ever_ in every personification in the room's eyes.

(A few seconds later, though, Sweden high-tailed it out of there.)

South Korea was surprisingly unfazed (of course, he had North Korea for a brother) until China hugged him to his chest while shaking in fear, the former immediately passing out from blood loss.

France, Germany, Spain, and the Italy brothers cowered in a corner. France was having a hard time deciding which air-head to grope: Veneziano—who he would face the wrath of Germany for touching—or Spain, which would ensure the wrath of Romano and the damn _Italian mafia._ Decisions, decisions.

England himself was desperately trying—and failing—to become invisible like Canada while standing flush against the farthest wall from Russia. In his head he was thinking things such as _"If we all die because Matthew and Alfred made Ivan laugh, I'm going to kill Alfred a hundred times over and tear out all his fucking organs then decapitate him and take his head to the English Channel and place it on a fucking—"_ and a bunch of other British things no one really cares about.

Finally, Ivan took a breather and lain himself across the floor. A bubble of a giggle emerged, rattling the other (still conscious) nations. "Ha ha…those two are so funny, da? I wish I had a brother, not a sister who cries all the time and a mentally insane sister…" At that moment, his happy mood turned sour and a dark aura, a familiar "Kol kol kol" filling the room.

The primal instincts that apparently even nations had surfaced in every personification—minus Russia—and they all sped out of the room, jumping over the huge nation as to not get trapped. Spain pulled a frightened Prussia (who the author mysteriously forgot about and blamed all the maple syrup Prussia'd been having with his pancakes) from his own place on the floor, dragging the ex-nation out of there.

However, Ivan had managed to capture himself one prisoner: France. Farewell France, you will not be missed.

* * *

Matthew groaned irritably, impatiently listening as America insulted him several times over in multiple languages**, all of which he could understand. (He didn't include the random use of American sign-language. That was just plain _unfair._) He was just about to turn around and give his brother a taste of his own medicine when said brother was suddenly hugging him, bending his knees slightly as to be shorter than his equal in height brother.

"A-Alfred? What's wrong?" he inquired, shaken by his sibling's sudden alarm. Sure, he was used to it when they watched horror movies together, but Alfred had never embraced him in such a manner when _not _watching a horror film.

"D-d-do you h-hear what I hear?"

"Other than that cheesy line…" He was about to say 'no' when he finally heard the echoes of Russia's howling laughter in the hall. "…Yes," he squeaked, holding his brother closer.

"…Oh God..."

"W-what is it?"

"What if _we're _the reason Ivan's laughing like that?"

Canada's breath hitched in his throat. "Damn, you're probably right," was all he was able to say before his voice died on him.

"If we really are the reason Ivan's laughing, Arthur's gonna _kill _me. A hundred times over. He gonna tear my fucking organs out then decapitate me and take my head to the English Channel and place it on a fucking—"

Matthew quickly covered Alfred's mouth with his hand. No need to think of that at that current moment of time.

Besides, if anyone was going to kill Alfred in such a manner, it would be _him._ He called first dibs two centuries ago***.

"I'm scared," America's muffled voice stated, said nation's hand grasping Canada's arms.

"M-Me too," Canada answered, curling slightly when Russia's laughter momentarily became louder. He didn't want to die yet! He still had things to do! Like cook the biggest pancake ever and build a house out of hockey sticks and actually be unkind to someone and make himself known and conquer America!

Oh, wait…the last two tied in with each other. Oops.

The brothers were just about to get to the heart-wrenching confessionals and apologies and blah blah blah when a skinny figure came crashing into the two, sending them to the floor.

"What the fu—Oh! Hey, Iggy!" America greeted, ignoring his brother who he was currently crushing. Sure, he and America were actually rather equal in strength****, but with the added weight of England, Matthew found it impossible to push them off.

England took a few deep breaths, green eyes wide as they studied America's face. Within a few moments, the European nation was hugging Alfred for dear life, shaking against the larger nation's body.

"W-wha? Arthur? What's wrong?" Matthew could practically hear the blush that had risen on Alfred's face. Matthew sighed. After a century of dancing the doesy-doe around their unresolved-sexual-tension, he would've been ecstatic for the two finally getting together. However, he wished they didn't resolve their attraction towards each other when he was squished underneath them.

(He started mentally preparing himself for any noises that began to come from above him.)

Meanwhile, America hesitantly placed his arms over England. It was beyond awkward to have to comfort your former father/big brother figure. The only thing that lessened the mood was that he, America, was somewhere around twice the size of Arthur. But still. "Um…Artie? Are you okay?" Damn, why did Arthur have to feel so nice in his arms?

"I-Iv…Russia," Arthur whispered into Alfred's shirt.

"What about Russia?"

"He…he was laughing at you and Matthew, and then he became upset over his sisters…and now he's pissed off!" Arthur whined, watery green eyes now staring into Alfred's blue.

Alfred's jaw dropped and at that very moment, a familiar "Kol Kol Kol" filled the hallway. Within seconds, America was standing with England thrown over his shoulder and the hood of Canada's red hoodie in his hand and he was off running into the imaginary sunset.

* * *

_*This is an inner joke of my own. I know that most countries depend on the world market, and America is a big player. I'm also aware that there are other countries that the world depends on market-wise, hell, here in America, if China's economy goes down 2 points, ours falls with it. I'm sorry if this line sounded weird/stupid/close-minded._

_**It's my personal head-canon that both America and Canada are very good at speaking multiple languages because of their high immigration rates. Not many of the other nations know of this, and the only other nations that can speak several languages are those who were big on expedition or colonization or also have high immigration rates. Those with big tourism rates know other languages, as well, but just not as well._

_***I know no one else got this joke, but I'm referencing 1812. Canada wanted to literally _kill _America in such a fashion. His exact words were "I'm going to fucking kill Alfred a hundred times over. I'm going to tear out all of his fucking organs and decapitate him and take his head to the Atlantic fucking Ocean then place it on a fucking—" before England cut him off. Yes, America, England, and Canada have a secret love for saying fucking a lot._

_****It's also another part of my head-canon that Canada and America are equal in strength, military (which I count as body strength) wise. Alfred just knows how to exert his muscles more so than Matthew because he works out more than Matthew, so if he was in the same position as Canada, he could push off the two people lying on top of him, but Canada couldn't because most of the working out he does is lumber-jack work and hockey._

**Translations:  
**_Америка_ – America – Russian  
_Mon_ _frère _– My brother – French  
_Tête de merde_ – Shit head, but for the lulz, let's pretend America called him poopy-head :D – French  
_Una perra _– A bitch – Spanish

**Grace Raven: **I'm not too proud about the beginning scene seeing as it was a bit too much like the first chapter, but trust me, that's not going to happen again in later chapters, seeing as they will be exploring the house they're in and gathering their memories. You gotta remember that this story is of Mystery genre, so be expecting future chapters not being so funny as I've been trying to make thus far.

Thank you for reading. Shout-outs to all my current reviewers:

**Nemiah, Ookami of Mystery, ghibli22, Girasole, Tahza, organization MA, Anonymous** (all from fanfiction)

**Squee101, madamemisfit, adele_1**, **fairykingaub, anoeldreamer, ohayogozaimasu **(all from livejournal)

Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews -heart-


	3. Aru, Meet STFU

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: World Series.

**It's Like a Reality Show, But Really Not**

**Sorry Al, but Strip Goldfish is Not For Those Under 500**

**(Oh! And Aru, Meet STFU)**

Walls were a very tempting thing to hit your head against, China noted as a pair of hands grabbed his chest. A small "Da ze~" was whispered into his back but, while cute, China couldn't help but find it incredibly annoying. Apparently, even an unconscious Im Yong Soo was still a perverted, non-existent breast grabbing Im Yong Soo. Oh, where had he gone wrong, aru?

"Wake up, aru," China muttered, shrugging off South Korea. The man (_boy _who needed to learn to keep his hands to himself would be a better term) fell to the ground soundlessly, still not entering the world of consciousness from his world of fairies and unicorns and—oh wait, that was England. His bad…aru.

China, better known as Wang Yao—Yao Wang for you Westerners—walked over to a randomly placed window and sighed as he leaned against the pane. He hadn't even been in this mysterious house for more than an hour since he had woken in the room of chaos (as he had so rightly dubbed it) and he was already homesick. Oh, how he missed the smog filled air, the dramatic difference in the ratio of boys to girls, and communism! Ah, China!*

Yao opened his formerly closed, brown eyes to stare out of the window that he didn't think to open and looked upon the fresh green fields. '_So I can guess we're not anywhere near civilization, aru'_, he concluded to himself. As he studied the fields for anymore helpful clues, he almost didn't notice a flash of color pass in front of the window. Perplexed, his chestnut orbs widened and he concentrated on finding the color again.

It didn't take long. Within seconds, a bright shade of blue appeared in China's sight. He immediately set to unlocking the latches, having a slight bit of trouble as he did so. '_Stupid long sleeves, aru!'_ When he was finally successful, he stuck his head out the window, just to see an additional shade of white with the blue. Even from his standpoint, China could see the stature of the wearer of the colors.

'_Is that really'—_

Before Yao could finish his thought, his legs felt a _very _sudden breeze.

His head whipped around ('_Oww, whiplash, aru!')_, only to see a very unwelcome sight.

"IM YONG SOO!" Yao shrieked, pulling his pants up as quickly as he could. Shinatty-chan had no right to be exposed in such a way!

Meanwhile, the mentioned South Korean merely stuck his tongue out with a smile on his face. "I wanted a White Christmas, da ze~!" he replied in his ever-so-annoying manner before rushing off so as to _not _get killed (damn, we went back to the death jokes) by China. He still had other breasts to grope, after all!

"IT'S NOT EVEN CHRISTMAS, ARU!" Yao chased after Yong Soo angrily, still pulling up his pants. As he did so, he did not notice the conveniently placed banana peal and tripped over it, his forehead meeting the conveniently placed table that he didn't remember passing rather soon. Pain shot through his poor head and he plummeted to the floor in an unconscious slump.

And he promptly forgot everything he had just seen.

* * *

**Grace Raven: **You see that right there? That's a joke not to be taken seriously, even though its all true.

*I'm, obviously, referring to 1), China's one of the biggest polluters in the world with his factories; 2) the affects of the One Child Policy has created a large difference between boys and girls because boys are favored in China, so many girls are either: killed, put up for adoption, or left out on the streets for someone to take them; and 3) China is communist. That's obvious.

* * *

As China's triad went on, Sweden was in pure bliss. Adorable little Finlands were dancing around him with an adult Finland—just as adorable as his younger selves—snuggled up to him. The smaller personification whispered Swedish with a few choice words of Finish into the larger's ear, turning a beautiful shade of red as he did so. The sky was pink and the clouds were in the form of Hanatamago, and everything was perfection.

His sweet world was shattered by the disrupting voice of Denmark. Damn him.

"Oi, _Sverige_! _Lyt til mig_!"

_'Unfortunately, I already am,'_ Sweden thought, turning to glare at Denmark. "_Vad_?"

Having grown up around Sweden (hell, he was practically his father), Denmark was not affected by the glare, retaining his usual state of mind: overly-eager and loud-mouthed. "I was askin' you if remember anything from last night…or whenever it was that we fell asleep and taken here."

The Nordic paused, trying to piece together what had happened the last time he was conscious. All that came to him was a smiling Sealand, a drunk Iceland, and a caffeine-high Norway. He involuntarily shuddered—caffeine and Norway should've _never_ be put together**. Neither should punsch*** and Iceland, as well.

"G't n'thin' import'nt," he answered. Nothing out of the ordinary had been going on (yes, that includes drunk Iceland and caffeine-high Norway…Sweden shuddered again) besides Finland not being with Sealand when the boy had arrived.

"Damn," Denmark whispered, staring at the ceiling. There was a thankful moment of silence before Denmark opened his damn mouth again. "Are you willing to bet that we're in an alternate universe where white aliens turn everything into blobs and we're the only ones left?"

Sweden stared at the shorter man, his mouth wanting to drop open. Denmark actually seemed _serious_ with his theory.

"Well, are you?"

Sweden's face, meet Sweden's palm.

* * *

**Grace Raven: **Yeah, not happy with this scene D: Stupid Sweden and your stupid bland personality.

**Norway is a _huge_ coffee drinker. He's pretty high up the scale of caffeine consumers. Of course, Sweden is not one to talk. From what I know, it's common over there to drink coffee wherever you are. In fact, I heard that its considered weird to a Swedish person if you refuse coffee. But I'm off topic. I was referring to a hilarious comic that was voiced over on YouTube. If you want to see it, ask me in a review.

***Punsch is a traditional Swedish drink. It is a liqueur (an alcoholic drink). You can find it in some other Nordic countries, though.

* * *

If there was a hell on Earth, this was it. Prussia, Spain, and Southern half of Italy all put together in one tiny hallway. Germany wanted to scream.

"Chigi! You bastard! Let go of me!"

"Aw~ Lovi's so cuuute."

"Stop poking my cheek, damn it!"

"Kesesesese, this is almost as awesome as me!"

"Don't make me use kung-fu on you!"

The sentence that would remind Romano that he could not use kung-fu died on Germany's tongue when he opened his mouth, for a forkful of pasta was immediately shoved in his mouth. Where Veneziano had gotten the huge pot of pasta—complete with several sauces that would create sheer heaven on earth if he currently wasn't in hell—no one would ever know. He wasn't sure if even wanted to know…

"Ve~, they get along well, don't they~?" Veneziano inquired, referring to the loud trio in front of them.

Germany didn't have the heart to say no. He merely watched on as Spain and Prussia cornered Romano and continued to sexually harass him.

"God damn you, bastards! Stop touching me!"

"Your face is so red, Lovi! You look like a—"

"Say tomato and I will kick you in the balls. That line is so cliché, its not even funny anymore."

Spain, dejected, moved to the corner next to Romano then proceeded to sulk with Spanish emo music that only he could hear in the background.

"Bruder…let him go," Germany finally said, glaring half-heartedly at his brother. Prussia stepped away from a blushing Romano who had tears in his eyes that only fangirls would swoon at.

"You're no funny, West. Can't you see that _Girls just wanna have—"_

"You're not a girl," Germany deadpanned.

"…I can if I want to! I'm awesome enough to be both a girl _and _a boy!"

"Ve~, is that possible, _Germania_?"

"Of course it is, little man! Just look at New Zealand! What the fuck _is _that guy…girl…thing, anyway?"

Veneziano pondered over this for a grand long time of two seconds before smiling in a way that could light all of Fucking, Austria and other places with names as such. "You're right!"

"Haha! I always am!"

"No you're not," Romano commented, having returned to his normal color.

Prussia soon joined Spain in the corner with Spanish emo songs that he could now hear as well.

Before the depressed duo in the corner could suddenly break out in song (Germany wouldn't put it past Spain and Prussia) and possibly make a sad rendition of the latest Eurovision (he didn't care what anyone said, he rightly won that. He hadn't put on a short black dress to lose), Germany decided to suggest them continuing through the hall to try and find out more about the mysterious house, only to have more pasta shoved in his mouth.

"Isn't it good~?" North Italy inquired with too much innocence for someone his age.

Germany nodded tersely and swallowed (without chewing, because he's beast like that), managing to block North Italy's fork when he tried talking again. "I suggest we go see if there are any more rooms here."

North Italy brightened (if that was possible). "Great idea, ve~!" And with that, Veneziano rushed off like the English army was on his tail, Romano following after grumpily. Germany glanced at Spain at Prussia for a fleeting second then trailed after the Italy brothers.

Prussia and Spain stood gloomily, an aura full of Spanish emo music surrounding them, and they walked the other way.

"At least I wasn't singing Justin Bieber," Prussia muttered, referring to when he tried to sing that Cyndi Lauper song before his stupid little brother interrupted him.

"Thank you so much for that."

"…_Let me tell you one time—"_

"Don't push your luck."

"…_Imma tell you one time—"_

The floor was surprisingly comfortable, Prussia noticed after Spain punched him to the ground.

* * *

**Grace Raven: **North Italy always has a bucket of pasta. Always. It is a must. And Prussia loves singing random songs. He really likes to sing America's, apparently. (*cough* It's _totally _not because I'm American. Of course not!)

* * *

"Git, watch where you're going."

"It's fine, Iggy! I'll be—" Before America could say the word 'careful', he found himself face-first on the tiled floor, England unceremoniously falling on his butt and Canada doing the most epic back flip in mid-air _ever_ then lading on his feet. Like a cat.

But then he dropped to the floor. Fail.

"What were you saying?" England sarcastically questioned, peering down at America like the damn fairy queen he was.

"Oh, just shut up," replied America, reenacting the last chapter when he was face-first on the floorboards and everything he said was muffled.

"Say please."

"Fuck no."

From somewhere behind England, there was a groan.

"You should learn to respect your elders."

"Look whose talkin'."

"It's talking, and what ever do you mean?"

"I don't see _you_ respecting your elders. Both of the Italies are your elder, France is your elder, _Spain _is your elder."

England refused to dignify that with a response.

America laughed victoriously as he stood, now staring down at England like the damn alien queen he was.

Canada rested his forehead against the cool tile, glowering at the two countries like the damn beaver king he was. Oh yes, he was a King. He was more manry than either of those two could ever be, eh!

"Oh, belt up, you twat," England stated, ignoring the gracious hand held out to him and stood up by himself, wiping invisible dust off his person. America retracted the hand, stuffing it in his jean pocket, still smiling. "Besides, the Italies act like fools, so its in my nature to reprimand them when Germany doesn't, France is…well…France, and Spain was a one time thing. It was his fault."

"What did he do?" America asked, grinning a Cheshire grin still.

"Read a history book!"

"…He insulted your cooking too many times, didn't he?"

England looked down. "Of course not. I didn't hurt him because he always refused to eat _my _cooking but no one else's while we were married…*"

Both Canada and America choked back a laugh, sounding eerily similar as they did so.

"Wankers…" the European nation grumbled, purposefully stepping on America's foot when he walked past him.

"We love you, too, Iggy!" The North American nation felt nothing when his foot was stepped upon. Of course.

"Oh, speaking of France," Canada prompted.

"What about him?" England interrupted.

"I wonder if he's okay. He's been in that room with Russia for awhile, don't cha think?"

"Hmph, like I care for that wanker. He could be playing strip goldfish for all I care!"

America stared at him, confused. "Strip goldfish? How do you play that?"

England stared back. "…I'll tell you when you're older."

"Aww, but Artie!"

Arthur rushed off before anyone could say anything else.

"Hey! Wait up!" Alfred called after him, grabbing Matthew by the wrist and chasing the European personification.

* * *

**Grace Raven: ***Before England "single-handed defeat that he _totally_ didn't win because the armada was weakened by weather conditions" destroyed Spain's armada, King Philip II of Spain and Queen Mary I of England married in 1554. The rest is history.

* * *

Meanwhile, France really _was _playing strip goldfish. Don't ask how that works. No, really. Don't.

"Do you have any—" Before Russia could finish his sentence, Prussia forced open the door.

"I'm here to save you, Francis!" Prussia yelled as though Francis was a damsel in distress and Russia was the mean old dragon down the street. I mean castle. Yeah, castle.

Spain came in behind the ex-nation, yelling out "Olè!", red cape included in everyone's imagination.

There was silence in the room until Prussia said "Holy crap, you guys are playing _strip goldfish_? Count me in!", and promptly took off all his clothes.

France was placed in a difficult situation. Should he tell Prussia to put back on all his clothes or let him stay nude and lose the game.

(No, not The Game. Which, for your information, you all just lost...Aru.)

* * *

**Grace Raven: **Yes, you saw a plot developing in China's scene. I know. This is madness.

"_Sverige_! _Lyt til mig!" _– "Sweden! Listen to me!" – Danish

"_Vad?_" – "What?" – Swedish

**I will hunt you down if you don't review.**


	4. Silence Knave

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: World Series or My Little Pony.

**It's Like a Reality Show, But Really Not**

**Chapter 4**

**Prussia is Not Allowed to Finish His Sentences**

Well, this wasn't awkward.

"Uh…hi, Sweden. Or do you prefer being called that name Denny calls you? Sethierjey, or somethin' like that, I dun care. I'm tired, so I'm gonna sleep now. G'night…No, mummy, I don't wanna wear the green tutu, it clashes with my eyes…"

While America was having very strange dreams that made Sweden consider calling a therapist for the other nation when he returned home, Sweden waited the recommended two seconds before slapping the younger on the head then pulling his cowlick for good measure.

The following reaction for said cowlick-pulling is not for those too young to read hard-core yaoi fics. We'll just say America had a wet dream then woke up and cursed with a very colourful language that would make England so proud that he'd start crying the manliest tears ever and-

Okay, getting off topic.

Anyway.

America awoke, red-faced and slightly exhausted, half-heartedly glaring at Sweden with hazed blue eyes. "Don't do that! And why the hell are you…oh," the younger nation trailed off when he noticed that he was not in his chosen room, and he was definitely not in his own bed.

"I dun kn'w wh' y're h're. I j'st w'ke 'p 'nd y'u w're sl'ping n'xt ta me. I'd pr'f'r it 'f it w're m'wife."

America blinked, seemingly processing what Sweden had said (which was "I don't know why you're here. I just woke up and you were sleeping next to me. I'd prefer it if it were my wife," for all you silly, slow Americans.) Sweden pondered if America really was as dense as his stereotypes deemed him to be. His English was perfectly fine.

After a good thirty seconds, America blinked again with recognition in his eyes. He seemed happy with himself before he quickly turned embarrassed. "Ah…so…do you come around here often?" he asked nervously. In truth, Sweden was nervous-slash-surprised as well. It wasn't everyday he awoke with someone else in his bed besides Finland when said nation wasn't out sniping or at a hard-metal concert.

(He didn't count Denmark. Denmark was a different story. Denmark was always a different story.)

There is need for explanation, isn't there?

Well, it had all started 1388 on a cold Swedish day when the enemies of King Albert of Mecklenburg elected Margaret-the regent of Denmark and Norway-to be the regent of the parts of Sweden they owned. Sweden had immediately met Denmark and Norway, the former immediately declaring to him that he would untie all three countries under some fancy "Kalmar Union" and then ride them all like a motherfuckin' cowboy. (…Denmark was a troubled child bent on corrupting every country he knew. It honestly gave Sweden nightmares that couldn't be cured by hugging Mrs. Snuggle Bunny.)

Oh, wait, that isn't the explanation needed, is it?

It had all started earlier that day (which was the same day all of the past chapters took place for all you silly forgetful people) after England had found France, Russia, Spain, and Prussia playing Strip Goldfish while he was running from a curious America. Ironically, America had been chasing him because he was curious about what Strip Goldfish was, but that is so last chapter. Anyway, after the players had gotten dressed, they had gone off to find the other nations and-

Sweden sighed as America curled up at his side, already falling asleep again. He would've ignored the sleeping nation and return to his epic flashback of non-epicness, but since the authoress is too lazy to write the whole story in past perfect tense and writing everything as she was a paragraph above is incredibly boring and no fun, like, at all, you shall just enjoy the scene break to earlier that day.

"Amerika, g't th' f'ck outta my b'd."

"Wha-huh? Oh, hi, Sweden! Or do you prefer being called that name Denny calls you? Sethierjey, or somethin' like that, I dun care. I'm tired, so I'm gonna sleep now. G'night…No, mummy, I don't wanna hug the one-eyed, one-horned, flying-purple-people eater…it'll ruin my complexion…"

Cue cowlick pulling and R-18 scene.

* * *

**Grace Raven**: 1388 was a time of chaos in Sweden, but the same year that Demark and Norway were united under a child king. Sweden did not join the union until 1389, when King Albert was defeated and Margaret became ruler of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. Margaret was of Danish royalty and had a son named Olav who was the child king of Denmark and Norway. Olav died in 1387, but Margaret did not claim the tile of queen, deciding to only be the regent of the two countries and later Sweden. This is how the famous Kalmar Union was first formed. I tried to find an earlier time in which Demark and Sweden interacted, but this is the earliest I could find D:

Past perfect tense is when a writer writes a flashback but he/she is already writing the whole story in past tense. It's rather hard to write because if you carry it on for a long time, you may accidently switch into past tense or present tense. At least, that's my problem.

Oh, and Sweden totally sleeps with a bunny plush named Mrs. Snuggle Bunny. It's adorable and was given to him by a secret country. *coughdenmarkcough*

* * *

"You really are such a lady. Truly."

"SILENCE KNAVE!"

Wrong fanfic. Sorry.

"Do you mind getting dressed?"

"Ah, but mon ami, the breeze feels so good between my-"

"For the love of eyebrows, do not finish that sentence."

France pouted, much like the prepubescent teenager he was inside, if the fact that he giggled like a tiny mini-skirt wearing school girl at the mere mention of genitals (…maybe that's where America and Canada got it*) was any indication. But then his eyes gleamed in a very perverse way and he approached England. Oh God, why did France always insist on losing his shirt last while playing Strip Goldfish? For the love of scones, why? He didn't want to see…that bouncing up and down when France walked.

"Ah, mon lapin, why don't you play it with us, hmm? You could use a little breeze between your-"

"Get your fucking hands off my junk, frog."

"Challenge accepted~!"

"Say what now?"

Just then, a blur of white, blue, and black appeared in the doorway. South Korea panted, a victorious grin on his face, which was quickly wiped away and replaced with a horrified frown (horrified eyes now included!) when he saw the game being played in the room. "Nae nun! Cheonyeo nae nun!" he shouted in his silly Korean gibberish as he covered his eyes with his long sleeves and passed out on the ground.

Asians seem to have a liking to passing out. Interesting.

Prussia cackled even though he was once again forgotten by the author, along with Spain and Russia, but who cares about them? "Man, he just couldn't handle the awesome me, could he?"

"I think he couldn't handle your surprisingly small dick," Russia answered with his patented creepy smile. Prussia gaped at him before standing up and curling up in a corner with German emo music (which totally pwns the Spanish emo music played last chapter) that only he and Spain could hear, if it was any indication that Spain was now singing the exact same music playing in Prussia's head. The creeper. "You just don't know how awesome having a small dick is. It totally attracts the ladies!"

"Oh~, you mean like Hungary?"

And then Prussia did the most awesome display of manliness and broke down crying, his very raepable ass hanging in the air. ("…Who wants to dry hump him first?"**)

And it was at that moment that America finally found England.

"Hey, Iggy! Are you sure you won't tell me what-" America's eyes widened, as did his mouth, and what brain cells he had stopped working.

"Alfie, I would like to show you Strip Goldfish. That-" England pointed his thumb to Prussia, who was as naked as the day he was born or however the fuck nations come to be "-is an example of losing. That-" he pointed to Spain, who was now dancing the Macarena "-is an example of wining. Any questions?"

"My eyes! My virgin eyes!" America repeated South Korea's actions and covered his eyes with his sleeves and passed out, falling face-first on the floor.

Americans seem to enjoy planting their face on the floor. Very interesting.

"You can see why I didn't want to tell you now, can't you, Alfie?" England looked over to France. "Blimey, put on some clothes, would you? I've seen enough of Paris for a century, thank you."

"Ah, but Angleterre, we haven't finished the game yet."

"You have now. You have a loser."

"Ah, but now we have a new player~."

England's next action was a very painful one for France. We'll just say that getting kicked in your No-No Box while not wearing underwear (or pants for you silly British people) is not a pleasant feeling. "Put on some clothes now and I'll spare your dear Eiffel Tower from being squished."

And that was how England forced every player to put on their clothes and how South Korea and America woke up with the virginity of their eyes taken.

* * *

**Grace Raven**: South Korea and America yelled out the exact same thing, only in different languages.

*Yes, some maor head canon. America is, obviously, a perverted teenager who giggles at mentions of sex. Canada, though, has…let's say…gotten around much more so than America, so he usually rolls his eyes or blushes at any talk of sex. However, he still has his moments.

**France said this line :3

Oh, and all this "silly, -nationality here-" thing is just a joke. Just thought I'd clear that up before I potentially get flamed.

Also, if anyone got my reference to Barney from How I Met Your Mother, you win at life :3

* * *

"Shit…I'm so damn hungry. So not awesome, man," Prussia groaned, clutching his stomach and leaning his head against the back of Canada's shoulder, said nation mimicking his actions and holding his growling stomach.

"Ugh…you can say that again," the North American country replied, rolling his head to the side only to find his face meeting Prussia's stark white hair. He would've moved away, but he was starving and he could pretend that the white hair was snow that he was sitting in while eating a crêpe or some other silly French food.

"Shit…I'm so damn-"

"I didn't mean seriously. Geez, man, get a reality check, gosh."

"We're already in some sad excuse for a reality show. The last thing we need is more reality," Romano supplied before tucking his head in the crook of Spain's neck.

"…What?" Canada and Prussia asked at the same time.

"Fuck off and feed me," Romano answered.

"I could do both if you-"

"Shut the hell up or I will steal Spain's axe and cut off your manhood."

"Aw~ That's not nice, Romanito~! Even if he deserves it!" Spain exclaimed, his exuberant smile swallowing the sun and moon (meanwhile, the streets were being rampaged by people running amuck because it was the end of the world and My Little Pony) when Romano willing allowed his arm to fall on his lap and whispered an exhausted 'shut up, bastard, and find me some tomatoes'.

Prussia frowned at his really unawesome (that's a word now. Whatever Prussia declares to be true is true, got it?) friends. He looked over to Canada, who had zoned out of the conversation and was now nibbling at the ends of his white hair. "Hey, while I like the head massage, I would prefer it if it was my-"

"Finish that sentence and I swear I will call over Chuck Norris and have him roundhouse kick you in the face," America interrupted, glaring at the ex-nation from his place at a random table that was so very conveniently placed with South Korea, both nations mourning the virginity of their eyes. After an unhealthy dose of not blinking, the young country buried his head in his arms and then was promptly forgotten for the rest of the chapter because he's been in enough scenes for one story.

Prussia stuck out his tongue, hugging Canada protectively in a way to try and annoy America (damn it he came back). It didn't work, so the ex-nation settled for holding the starving blond.

England's eyes searched the room, scanning over Prussia and Canada (oh god, were they snuggling?), Spain and Romano (was Spain somehow managing to dance the tango without standing? Wow…didn't know Romano could bend that way), Russia and China (playing patty cake...aw…wait…what?), a slightly annoyed Germany and an enthusiastic Veneziano, a tied-up France, Denmark and Sweden (the latter of whom was using his smexy Swedish powers to quiet the Dane), and a moping South Korea and…who was that? England suddenly could not remember. Strange.

Several of the personifications were moaning-sadly not in a sexual way, which depressed England's inner voyeur-for food. And that was when England had a fabulous idea.

"I could cook something for everyone."

Everyone's reactions could only be described as this: pure, unadulterated horror.

"All right, all right, you wankers! I won't cook anything!" There was a collective sigh of relief that made England's eye twitch. "Besides, it's not like we have a bloody kitchen anyway."

"Ve~?" Veneziano-North Italy for you silly, forgetful Canadians-said, garnering everyone's attention. "But there is a kitchen, Inghilterra. That's how I made my PASTAAAA~" the Italian country said-shouting the last word until Romano pimp slapped him-, pulling out his silver pot of pasta seemingly from mid-air (much like that mysterious table).

"W-where is the kitchen, then?" Germany inquired, trying and failing to hide his excitement at the mere chance of eating food. His brother, however, was a different story, as he immediately stood up with Canada still in his arms, shouting "HALLELUJAH! FOOOOOOOOOD!" until he fell backward because Canada was too heavy for him ("Goddammit, Mattie, loose some weight." "Are you implying I'm fat?" "May-" Cue bitch slap.)

"Ve~ this way! Tally ho!" Veneziano exclaimed, scurrying off in the direction of the kitchen.

"That's my line, you twat," England whispered, begrudgingly following the group that had wasted no time to trail after Veneziano. (This group did not include France, who was busy untying himself.)

When they managed to reach the kitchen, they were all met with pearly white tiles, mahogany cabinet doors and table, and brass handles. Everything literally sparkled.

All of the nations screamed 'FOOOOOOOOOOOD' (except Prussia, who was kicked in the jaw the second he opened his mouth) and scrambled to search the refrigerator and cabinets, finding everything stocked full with provisions. Ignoring that this fact was utterly creepy, everyone (minus France, who was still tied-up, courtesy of England) began to fight over the stove and oven and pots and pans and other kitchen utensils to make their own food. Because the author is feeling lazy, we'll just say that their methods of fighting were very…interesting. As in, Romano acting like Veneziano and vuvuzelas suddenly not being played in the last World Cup game interesting.

After the fiasco, everyone sighed in relief-they're stomachs were finally full and they were all lying against the cold tiles in pure bliss. Yes, even France, who had entered the kitchen some time throughout their ultimate kitchen battle while re-enacting the Napoleon Years and utterly failing at it (of course, where was the surprise in that?).

"Damn…I could fall asleep right here," some random mofo said, snapping all the personifications from their overly-nourished state of being.

Oh yeah.

What were they going to do for sleeping?

And that was why they found themselves searching the corridors of the mysterious house for bedrooms.

It was Denmark and Spain who found the rooms first.

"My word, how did you find them, whatever-your-last-name-is?" Spain asked, suddenly wearing a monocle.

"Elementary, my dear Fernandez Carriedo," Denmark replied, suddenly holding a pipe.

Russia found the display simply hilarious.

Everyone else found Russia's laughter simply scary.

Sweden was indifferent and simply walked into one of the rooms, laid down on a bed, claiming it as his own. Because he's an awesome gay like that.

And that was how everyone found themselves a bed and why Sweden woke up in the middle of the night to America sleeping in his bed.

"Once ag'n: g't th' f'ck outta my b'd."

"Speak English."

That was a night America would forever remember as the night his cowlick was horribly abused.

* * *

Meanwhile, Spain was awakening for a midnight tomato run, but when his vision cleared, his eyes were greeted by the sight of an aggravated Germany.

"For some reason, I feel as though I should somewhat detest you."

"P-por que?"

"I have no idea. Something about fußball."

"…Interesting…"

* * *

**Grace Raven: **OMG YES I FOUND IT! THANK YOU, LIVEJOURNAL ;A;


	5. And You Can Go FrUk Yourself Too

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: World Series or _That's Amore _by Dean Martin.

**It's Like a Reality Show, But Really Not**

**Chapter 5**

**The Script is What Everyone Loves**

**(The Voices Can Go FrUk Themselves)**

"Does anyone want to explain _how_, exactly, did we miss the _stairs_? They may as well be painted red and white and called Waldo!"

"And in other news, we don't give a shit."

China nodded in agreement, cooling himself with a random fan that popped out of nowhere.

Everything they have comes from the air. Really. It's true. If you have any questions, please feel afraid to ask.

While England (produced good old yaoi times) attacked Canada—because, once again, America escaped the evil British by hiding behind the good old, all-American, scary as fuck Russia (minus the all-American, because, really, even Russia and his gigantic nose have the decency not to have a tacky-ass flag)—Veneziano skipped over to the stairs and patted them. Yes, skipped, because he's super manly like that.

"Ve~ _ciao_, Waldo. Welcome to our mafia. I-I mean group! Yeah…_group_…hehe…" There was a moment of silence before the Italian pulled out a gun that immediately turned on everyone with a gun kink. Those sick bastards. (Yeah, I'm lookin' at you. Yes, you sitting at the computer instead of doing something actually fucking ~productive~.) "You heard nothing, _capisci_?"

As Germany dragged Veneziano—and the totally badass gun that makes yo mama cry—away from Waldo, England continued raeping Canada and Spain returned to dancing the Macarena. A totally normal day, in truth.

And then Romano spoke.

"So are we going to go up…'Waldo'…or are we all just going to stand around being dumbasses?"

America shouted, "WHAT HAVE I CREATED?"

And then everyone else screamed.

And then Denmark danced the Irish Gig across the screen.

* * *

Meanwhile, the authoress had no idea what the hell she was doing.

* * *

"I vote we climb Waldo!" South Korea exclaimed after everyone managed to calm down. America was in the corner, rocking back in forth in the featle position, chanting _'There's no place like Albuquerque' _and some other fucked up _Wizard of Oz_ quotes. It was safe to say he was scarred for life by everyone's amazing accents.

"Hmm…It would make sense for us to go up Waldo if we're still searching the house…" There was a beat of silence before a life-shattering discovery was made. "…My 'Aru' has disappeared!"

South Korea's eyes widened in despair. "Then…then EVERYTHING I KNOW IS A LIE!"

"I'M NOT ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT PASTAAAAAAA ANYMORE!"

"MY IMAGINARY FRIENDS ARE AMERICAN."

"I DON'T SOUND CUTE ANYMORE."

"MY VOICE IS SO MANLY AND UNSEXY THAT MY ASS WON'T MAKE UP FOR IT."

"I SAY THE J-WORD ON SCREEN!"

"…Jeremiah?"

"Huh?"

"Is the J-word Jeremiah?"

"…Yes, yes it is."

Kumajirou (who suddenly appeared in the story, like whoa) smiled proudly to himself, having figured out that the J-word was Jeremiah and not a three-lettered term that not even your fascist daddy would say.

"So, ahem, _anyway_…I vote we do as Korea suggested."

Of course, the cliché continued and nobody heard a word Canada said. Whoever he was.

Prussia heard him, but he isn't needed right now, so he did nothing but stand awesomely in the emo corner.

Miraculously, France also heard this mysterious "Canada" person. "I agree! Come now, _Angleterre_—oh hey, I said it correctly*-let us have _l'amour_ while climbing up these steps." He grabbed England by the arm, pulling him to his body and leading him up the stairs. Somehow, they found a gondola and started rowing up the stairs. France found a ukulele and began singing.

_"When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that's amore~."_

"When the crap were you Italian?"

"Since your mom, _mon lapin._"

That was when America moved away from his emo corner (not the same emo corner Prussia was in—the awesome of those two together would cause the nearest rave to mellow down, and nobody wants that) and jumped into the gondola with France and England, screaming "I'm not done releasing my sexual tension! Woof!"

Everyone blinked in surprise. "…Did you just bark?" England inquired.

"Like an alpha dog, woof! Yes."

"W' sh'ld pr'b'bly get th't ch'cked."

"Hmmm, no. I rather like it." Then England grew a creepy smile on his face and America shrunk back, blushing slightly.

And it was at that moment that all UKUS fans had a nosebleed.

* * *

As this went on, the authoress was banging her head against the desk, unsure just what the hell she was thinking.

The authoress' mother, who was in another room, had a vague feeling that she should go check up on her daughter for any self-inflicted damage to her head.

* * *

"I challenge you to…the _death_," Korea hissed, standing Preying Mantis style. He glared at the object before him, allowing a dramatic pause before yelling loudly and jumping into the air.

"For Aru's sakes, don't try to kill Waldo," China sighed, watching as South Korea attacked the stairs (…and humped it, apparently) foolishly.

The Korean turned to him, tears shining in his eyes and bishie sparkles surrounding him. France fainted from the beauty. "But…but everyone else got to go up awesomely!"

"You don't," China stated, grabbing South Korea's collar and dragging him up the stairs, dropping him on top of France when they reached the last stair.

(South Korea was never the same after coming into bodily contact with France.)

And because the authoress is a lazy ass and feels horrible for not updating in, like, forever, she is just going to leave you with this four-paged chapter that makes little-to-no sense, not that the rest of this story really makes much sense, anyway.

Not that any of you really care.

* * *

**Grace Raven: **-insert Wapanese apologizing here and massive amounts of fake tears stolen from France- I would give you a reason for not updating in, like, 3 months, but I'm a lazy bitch, so no. And...don't ask why Chapter 4 disappeared - I was being a dumbass. ._.

Just blame school – that's what everyone does. That and communists :D

*Go back to the first chapter to figure this one out :P

Oh, and did anyone here go to Oni Con? If you did, I was the epic Denmark that kept asking everyone "Can I eat it?"


End file.
